Floofmore (floofinition) – A forgotten muse, referred to as the tenth muse in ancient writings, associated with literature, poetry, dance, and music inspired or about animals. Floofmore was often later reduced to Floof, from which the modern popular term for animals is derived.
In use: “Scrolls associated with Virgil were uncovered. Some say that the scrolls were part of Book Three of the Aenid. In the scrolls, Floofmore’s influence on the wandering Aeneas was described, as was the jealousy by other muses caused by the rising admiration of animals, and the subsequent sacrifice Floofmore made to keep animals wild and free.”
Flooftina (floofinition) – 1. A cafe or that caters to animals. 2. Slang for a home or household that caters to animals, particularly housepets. 3. The wear, tear, scratches, and rubbings that accumulate when pets live in a home.
In use: “A gentle flooftina — dark rubbings by a door jamb, clawed fabric on the sofa’s corner, scratch marks from a running animal on a hardwood floor — was evidence of that animals lived there. Indeed, three were asleep on furniture in the sunshine, partially raising their heads with drowsy to see who was looking at them.”
Slowing it down today. Thursday, innit? I’m starting to brake for the weekend, let me slide in there nice and gentle.
One of my preferred U2 albums is The Joshua Tree. A number of songs from that album speak to me, including “I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For”. After the song was released, I often reflected that I was still looking, and I often didn’t know what I was looking for. In the years since, I’ve refined my sense of what I’m looking for. I attribute my writing efforts to closing that gap; writing prompts introspection and thinking about, well, what I’m thinking. It all helps.
The thing about the song as well is how it plays against a greater theme. Consider the import of the lyrics as Bono sings about climbing highest mountains, run through fields, and scaled city walls to be with someone. The stuff of true love, right? But yet, he still hasn’t found what he’s looking for. It’s like, they thought that one thing would satisfy their itch, only to achieve it and realize, that’s not it.
Most of us have been there, hey? We have a gap, ache, or longing, and we’re trying to understand it, and then, understanding it, try to understand how to fulfill it. It often feels with the journey of our life. People fill us with tales about how work, love, or having children will fulfill us, but that doesn’t work for all. Some find fulfillment with God or nature. Some of us look for it in art.
And some of us write like crazy.
Everything felt the same. Hell, it all looked and sounded the same. Likewise, he was going through the same friggin’ routines that defined his life. All of it was very sappy, calling out songs, movies, and novels that spoke about this kind of moment, the moment of pain and realization when someone else, someone who matters, is no longer there.
So he went on, doing his usual shit, but also taking calls, sending and answering emails, making arrangements, listening to sympathy, often secretly crying in his car, bed, bathroom, and kitchen, mourning his loss. Then he went to the services, of course. They were sweet and beautiful, with friends remembering her with tears and laughter. Then, that was done.
After that, life was supposed to resume. Nothing had really changed, except that she wasn’t there. And yet, for all its resemblance for being the same as before, nothing was, or would ever be, the same as before again.